Clegg-up

Anyone talking about a LibDem government is a lot more naive than I am, but I won't deny that it is fun to be a fan of the yellows today. Clegg's support has certainly rocketed up following last night's live TV debate - but only a sixth of the population watched it, and of them, only about half say they would vote for him in the election. It's hardly the sensation that it seems in this morning's media - but there's no doubt it was a great night for British politics.

I watched the first hour of the debate intently on my laptop between midnight and 1am, and watched the final thirty minutes somewhat less intently immediately after that. My hastily typed notes bring it all flooding back... It never fails to amaze me how rubbish Brown is on camera. Cameron talks clearly but still reminds me of the inflatable reserve pilot in Airplane; if we popped him, he'd crumple. I tried to concentrate on what he was saying but I was a bit the worse for wear after a raucous night at KaraUke (yup. Karaoke. Ukuleles. Amazing.) and I involuntarily started to glaze over whenever he was speaking. The only thing that woke me up was his repeated use of the bizarre, two syllable "prop'ly", which initially grated and then started to make me giggle compulsively. He mentioned meeting a "black man" as though this was some ground-breaking act of tolerance: the nation winced. The only time I warmed to him was when I noticed he is left handed, an extraordinarily insignificant fact that made me squeal with excitement. It won't make me switch my political allegiance, though. He really did seem like such a lightweight. Attacking Brown should have been complete child's play - even the least aggressive Tory could plausibly argue that we are in a far worse financial state than any other leading economy, and that it's all Gordo's fault. Whether those accusations are true or not is up to Brown to defend - but surely Cameron missed a sitting duck there. A duck who lives in a duckhouse paid on expenses. Paddling near a moat, cleaned on expenses. Then again, Cameron probably didn't go into the debate intending to kick off a nuclear cold/boiling hot war with China... A quote from my notes: "Isthe most important job of the cuntry to protect and defend uK - 'when we don't know what's got to happen with iran, we don't know what's going to happen with china...?' ARGH."

Immediately after the live debate had ended, probably around the time I was on stage with Chris and Lucille singing Tiffany's I Think We're Alone Now, my other friend Chris sent me a text that read: 'Brown = Retard', and having watched the programme, I'd agree that he completely lost me. He tried really hard to use hard facts - but, as the book I'm reading now is pointing out superbly, facts and truth don't win - stories do. I wrote in my notes "oh poor gordon. it's an absolute car crash. every idea he comes out with is like 'why aren't you already doing this NOW?' they should have had a new leader." His response to the expenses scandal seemed genuinely humble - but his claim to be all up for Parliamentary reform drew derisive laughter from both Cameron and Clegg - the former rightly asking why he promises to do it now, having had 13 years, while the latter was visibly frustrated given that both main parties have voted against his reform suggestions in the recent past.

Unlike Cameron and Brown, however, Clegg was believable. He used smart analogies on tricky subjects, straightening out the debate on capping immigration by saying it would make the football transfer market difficult, and relating well to the audience, at one point saying to a questioner something along the lines of, "I know you're not allowed to ask supplementary questions, but nod if you like what I'm saying." It was a brilliant tactic to get people physically onside and showed a real comfort with talking to real people that I didn't see from either of the other two. He also was the only one to mention the metaphorical and literal bombshell that is Trident and its £100 billion price tag - you knows it makes sense. On the downside, like Cameron and Brown, he was fairly insufferable with his pally pally first names every six seconds, falling over himself to thank Jacqueline, Alan and Joel personally for their startlingly brilliant questions on the NHS, education and defence etc. etc. vom. etc.

Overall, I couldn't fail to be impressed that all three of them came out without weeping - I can't think of many modern situations that could be more intensely pressurising than a ninety minute, uninterrupted, live, national debate with two formidable opponents, and I spotted the autocue at one point - no scrolling script of course, just a huge timer counting down the number of seconds they had left to speak. Cameron rounded up with the terrifying mental image of him "being behind you" like a terrifying right wing pantomime villain or a gay car in the car/garage analogy, after which I kind of missed whatever the other two said. ITV's Alistair someone, the presenter, was laughably bad: an unusually tricky combination of camp, patronising, thick and bossy. I'm glad I watched to the end, however, as the hand shaking competition that went on as the credits rolled was hi-freaking-larious - Brown clearly broke rules to step forward and start mingling with the audience in the front row, while Clegg and Cameron stood uncertainly on the stage, wanting to get their skin touching moment in but knowing they'd agreed not to. Eventually they conferred and scuttled off the steps together, so suddenly, all three leaders were shaking pretty much every hand within reaching distance. It was a frenzy of "Love me! Love me!" to a previously-stifled audience who seemed thrilled to be allowed to do something other than hold very still. It looked like a political version of an impromptu a-Ha concert, with Clegg as Morton, Cameron as Mags and Brown as Pal. [Insert your own pun about the sun always shining on TV here]. [Or would one about hunting high and low be more appropriate?].

Anyway. Happy weekends one and all. I'm off with my PMT and my hangover to the gym, followed by a night out on the tiles with Grania where we've set ourselves wardrobe homework: neither of us is allowed to wear anything that the other has seen before. I am wearing several items that are quite odd on their own, but when teamed together are nothing short of fashion suicide. I'm going to look like I've picked my outfit for a bet. And my odds are not great.